


The Love that Dare Not Speak its Name

by BerlinKabarett



Category: Assassin's Creed, syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Internalised Homophobia, Loneliness, M/M, Other, Sequence 8 Spoilers, Sexual Confusion, hints of slight (past) Roth/Jacob, inner turmoil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerlinKabarett/pseuds/BerlinKabarett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob Frye tries to come to terms with the legacy of discord and confusion left in the wake of Maxwell Roth.</p>
<p>[This is not particularly a Roth/Jacob, though it could be inferred as such. This is about Jacob's inner struggles with his own demons following Sequence 8.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love that Dare Not Speak its Name

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beauties. I have long lurked, but this is the first fanfiction that has been penned by me in many years, and it's been even longer since I published one. But Jacob's story really hit me in the 'feels', as the cool kids say. (Lengthy) notes continue at the end. :)

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even have looked at Maxwell Roth twice on the street.

Well, perhaps a double take at the alarming scar snaking down the man's right cheek, but that would have been it.

And now that the thespian-cum-crime lord was dead, Jacob's head was swimming in conflict and confusion.

_Darling, what a night!_

He sat at the bar in the Black Bull with a bottle of Lancashire stout in hand, his eyes running over the raised glass lettering without reading the words. 

_Why did you do it? All of it!_

_You've ruined everything..._

Jacob recalled that moment after his blade had sealed Roth's fate, voice tight as he had desperately sought answers from the criminal. And then that ridiculous answer... _why not_... and that kiss. As he gasped his last, Roth had grasped Jacob's collar and pulled him down to crush desperate and bloodied lips against his. That kiss had undone him. In the fraction of a second, so many thoughts and images had whirled around Jacob's anguished mind. Exhilaration, shame, fear, disgust, understanding... despair. And then, as he tore away like a frightened deer, Roth breathed his last.

He hadn't wanted this. Roth, from the very moment he had sent that gilded dinner invitation, had opened up worlds for the assassin that he had never thought possible. For his entire life, Jacob had known that there was something different about him. He wasn't like the other boys. He remembered times earlier in his youth where he had found himself becoming rather too attached to a close friend, or feeling increasingly awkward about the communal ablutions during his later school days. It had made him feel utterly confounded and alone.  
He'd learned to deal with all of that nonsense of course, in the years following his pubescent awkwardness, and had pretty well managed to brush it all under the carpet as the silly fancies of a boy. 

But from the moment he and Roth had made their acquaintance, Roth had proven to be utterly charmed by the assassin. Compliments were sincere and frequent, mostly causing a smile to swell from within Jacob. Largely to do with the flattery, naturally, but there was also something else. The way Roth's eyes seemed to light up when Jacob arrived at the Alhambra, the pet names that would have disturbed many a right-standing gentleman. But Jacob liked it. He liked the effect he seemed to have on Roth. And for a while, the two of them continued their alliance in earnest, Roth charming Jacob as he in turn was charmed. 

But then he had to ruin it.

Jacob closed his eyes tightly and pinched at the bridge of his nose, setting the bottle down heavily on the ale-dampened bar top.   
He could have learned so much from Roth, about himself, about everything.. his throat tightened and he swallowed against it. He had genuinely become fond of the man, scarred and eccentric and exhilarating. 

Evie had given him a strange look when he'd had the little crow, Rook, stuffed and mounted to set in his quarters aboard Bertha. But it was all he had to remember his short-lived friendship with the eccentric older man, and he often couldn't stop himself staring at it despite the turmoil and the regret that bubbled up in him when he did.   
But now it was all lost, and Jacob was finding it hard to sweep under the carpet yet again that which had been so recently and gleefully rediscovered. He needed something harder than stout.

"Barman!" He raised a hand to attract the harried man, "Gin."

"Right you are, sir." The man put down the dirty rag with which he had been attempting to sop up some spilled ale and fetched a half empty bottle of the clear spirit with a cloudy glass, setting them down on the bar top. He eyed the green rag affixed to Jacob's sleeve nervously; Lambeth was Rook territory, and he appeared to be serving their boss. Jacob's face was like thunder."On the 'ouse," he added hurriedly before making himself scarce.

A twisted smirk pulled at the side of Jacob's mouth as he uncorked the bottle and sloshed a generous draught into the murky glass, throwing it back in one go, then pouring another. The spirit burned his throat, but he couldn't knock it back fast enough. Booze seemed the right answer for his troublesome thoughts at that moment. And maybe a fight. No one seemed much interested in provoking the infamous boss of the Rooks at that moment though, perhaps due to his unrivalled prowess in London's underground boxing rings.

At closing time, Jacob was the last patron in the Black Bull. The barman was clearly tentative about asking the powerful gangster to leave, and the drunken Jacob gave a smile like a grimace in amusement as he thought of making the poor bastard stay open just to keep him in drink. In the end, he swayed as he slid off the stool, catching hold of the edge of the bar top to stop himself toppling to the floor. "Tell you what, squire. Give me the rest of this bottle," Jacob once again gave that grimacing smile and pointed an unsteady finger at the gin, which was the second of the night, "and I'll be on my merry way."

"Of course, Mr. Frye - just as you like. And may I wish you a pleasant evening, sir." 

Jacob ignored the toadying remarks from the small, moustached man and grasped the bottle neck, trying his best to walk in a straight line as he stepped out into the chilly London fog.

+++

Jacob awoke to a searing pain behind his eyes, disorientation and a mouth that tasted like he'd licked a cat's arse. He groaned and reached up to pull his hat over his eyes, but found only his own bedraggled chestnut hair. He groaned again, louder, and slung his arm over his face. He noticed his coat sleeve definitely smelled like a cat's arse.

"The pride of London: Jacob Frye. Leader of the Rooks, liberator of children, protector of the people."

"Fuck off, Evie." His voice came, muffled, from beneath his arm.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you, brother? We are _this_ close to finding the Shroud, we need you more than ever, and you pick this particular point to go off the rails." The elder Frye twin tossed a wash cloth and sponge at her brother, rising from where she'd squatted in front of Jacob's prostate form on the sofa. "Clean yourself up. You smell worse than you look, and that's saying something."

Frowning and not quite able to open his eyes fully against the morning sun glaring through the compartment window, Jacob struggled into a sitting position. "What concern is it of yours how I choose to waste my time? Don't you have the wonderful Mr. Green to scamper about after that damned shroud with?" Jacob spat back, his usual manner of insult heavily laced with a tone so steeped in anger and vitriol that it surprised even Evie. She turned around to look at him, silent as she studied his face. 

"What on earth has gotten into you," she said, voice not much above a whisper. There was no anger in her reply, but a trace of vague concern.

Jacob had managed to get onto his feet, yanking off his jacket and flinging it into the corner of his train carriage quarters, which was in its usual state of chaos. "Just leave me alone," he ground out through gritted teeth, pulling his shirt off with as much irritation.

Evie stood there a moment longer, concerned, but had no idea what she could do for the moment other than leave her brother in peace. She turned on her heel and left the carriage, heading for her own quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> The title references the beautiful and sad Victorian poem "Two Loves" by Englishman Lord Alfred Douglas, better known as the lover of Oscar Wilde. 
> 
> I feel that the thought process behind this needs a little bit of explaining. I picked up and played AC:S and I thoroughly enjoyed it from the start, in fact I'd go as far as saying it's the best in the series yet. I love the Frye twins and their banter, and the Victorian age is very appealing to me, not to mention that it's set in my country. But I digress; onto the matter at hand.  
> When Jacob received a letter, I was intrigued. When it turned out to be a dinner invitation from a gentleman, I was doubly intrigued. The exchanges between Roth and Jacob were a welcome change from the usual womanising male heroes I usually put up with. The way Jacob practically blushed and fluttered his eyelashes when Roth called him the bravest man in London left me very pleasantly surprised - but surely it was all the work of my indomitable slasher's heart.  
> Then I listened to the interview with AC lead writer, Jeffrey Yohalem. It was canon. Jacob was, at the very least, conflicted about his sexuality; and Jacob purposefully has no female love interest for the entire game. Yohalem claimed that the Roth sequence was Jacob's romance storyline.  
> And of course, after the finale at the Alhambra, and Jacob's almost tearful demand "why did you do it?" - where was his cocksure attitude of all the other assassinations? - and his irritability at Evie when he got back to the train hideout, well. I started thinking, trying to put myself in those shoes. He may not have loved or even been attracted to Maxwell, but he was drawn to him, perhaps because of the older man being so sure of himself and confident in his own identity. I read elsewhere that Lewis was an old flame of Roth's, and the lead writer confirmed that Roth was in love with Jacob. If you can imagine being in a world where you were looked at as a degenerate for having homosexual inclinations, and there were no support groups, no like-minded people to turn to, and you would fear and hate yourself for longings that disgusted you but you couldn't be rid of. This is what Jacob experiences, and it's there in the game's subtext. I wanted to explore that.
> 
> BUT.
> 
> I do love Jacob, and I hate to see him suffer, even though I'm driven to write it. I feel that as I add to the story, Jacob will be able to come through the darkness and find some closure. Whether that's with someone, well.. we'll see. ;)


End file.
